


Better When I Lie

by rensahannou (asmalltigercat)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College AU, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Neighbors, New York City, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmalltigercat/pseuds/rensahannou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is in his mid-twenties when Laura finally convinces him to go to college, and he gets his own apartment in a building full of obnoxious students.</p><p>He could deal with that, except his neighbor's brand of obnoxious involves staying up late to play computer games, mumbling to himself while he studies, having video chats with a friend (just the one, as far as Derek can tell), and occasionally having really awkward sex.</p><p>It's that last one that's the real problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago I decided I wanted an AU fic where Laura never came back to Beacon Hills, she and Derek continued to live in New York, then Stiles ended up in New York for college or whatever and met Derek.
> 
> More recently, I was listening to "In The Next Room" by Neon Trees, had the idea for this fic, and started giggling a lot. (The title is from the song but whether it directly relates to the fic is open to interpretation.)
> 
>  **Additional Warnings:** This first chapter involves a lot of Derek listening to Stiles have sex in the next apartment over while Stiles is completely unaware, and if someone can tell me a succinct way to tag that I will. There is no sexual activity on Derek's part while he's listening to Stiles, though. Mostly he's pretty blase and vaguely annoyed by the whole thing.
> 
>  ~~In the interest of full disclosure, this will have at least one more chapter but I have absolutely no idea when I'll get around to it. It works as a (somewhat lacking, if you don't like pre-relationship stuff) one-shot so you can go ahead and read it now if you'd like, but if it's going to bother you when I don't update for weeks or months you might wanna skip this. If you do read it I hope you like it!~~ **UPDATING REGULARLY NOW (finally)**

Derek is in his mid-twenties when Laura finally convinces him to go to college. It's not even so much that she convinces him as it is he can't stand living with her for another year so he leverages getting a proper education with getting his own apartment, and she agrees. It's student housing, sort of; not owned by the university but by someone who only rents to students there. The apartments are studio-style: living room, bedroom, and kitchen in one open, tiny space, with a bathroom and closet attached.

It's roughly a fourth (maybe) the size of the apartment Derek shared with his sister, but it's _his_ so it's okay.

The walls in the building aren't as thin as some but given the confined space it's all too easy to overhear things he doesn't want to. On the one hand, he has to stay aware of his surroundings; on the other, most of the other students are years younger than him and obnoxious. Fortunately, he manages to get an apartment at the end of a hall, so he only has one immediate neighbor to tune out. 

Less fortunately, this particular kid's brand of obnoxious involves staying up late to play computer games, mumbling to himself while he studies, having video chats with a friend (just the one, as far as Derek can tell), reassuring his father via phone that he's alive and not getting into trouble, and occasionally having really awkward sex.

It's that last one that's the real problem.

It's not that it isn't understandable. From the excited conversations Derek doesn't mean to hear, this is the first time the kid's lived on his own (he's a sophomore, which means he's actually _above_ Derek in school, while being at least half a decade younger) and he's taking full advantage of having his own space. Just like Derek, except Derek likes being able to read in peace, listen to his music (which helps to drown out the kid's noise, but not quite enough) without complaint, and _not_ having to sleep with someone just to get away for a night, while Stiles (that's what the friend, the dad, and the one-night stands call him) uses that freedom to have awkward, obviously inexperienced sex.

Derek can't tell if the awkwardness is due to the inexperience or if it's just a characteristic of sex with Stiles in general.

Not that he's thinking that much about it.

He wouldn't be thinking about it _at all_ except he can _hear it_. The kid isn't especially loud or anything; Derek thinks he's probably even trying to be quiet. But he's right next door and the music only covers so much and Stiles never tells the people he brings home that they need to be quiet, so. Derek hears things.

He hears it, a week into the semester, when Stiles tells Scott (the friend) that he has a date that night with a girl from one of his classes last year. "She's nothing like Lydia," Stiles says, "but that's good, right? I'm branching out. Being an adult. An adult with his own apartment. And she seems cool."

"Dude you sound so nervous," Scott says, his voice through the computer amused and reassuring. "You've been on dates before."

"And I get nervous _every time_ ," Stiles counters. "And now, like, I've got my own place, so we could potentially, you know, _come back here_ , and—"

"Don't get ahead of yourself there, buddy," Scott says, and Stiles laughs nervously.

Derek furrows his eyebrows and concentrates harder on his textbook. Maybe he should get a TV, if he's going to be this nosy about his neighbor's love life. Or life in general. 

Stiles does end up coming home with the girl that night. Derek hears the mix of pride and (calculated?) apology for the apartment as Stiles shows her in, offers her a drink. Derek hears the attempts at conversation, hears as the girl steers things towards what she wants to happen. He hears the fumbling, the stifled giggles as kissing turns to clothes being removed.

It's late and Derek has an early class and he just wants to sleep, and he turns the radio on, volume low enough they won't hear it next door, then covers his head with his pillow and tries to focus on the sounds outside, because the radio sounds are annoying. He wonders if this girl is anything like him; if she goes home with people just to get away. He tries not to care. Derek manages to tune out the sounds well enough to sleep, but a door opening and shutting sometime later wakes him up again. When he realizes it's from next door, he turns off the radio, rolls over and drifts back to sleep, not letting himself check to see if Stiles is awake and aware that she left. 

——

"So casual sex is a thing," Stiles says to Scott the next night, while Derek cooks dinner and doesn't care that Stiles sounds pleased and a little proud instead of upset, "that I apparently do now. In my apartment. With people, that I bring here. To have sex with."

"Isn't that what you were doing last year?" Scott asks. He sounds distracted. Maybe. His voice is hard to hear clearly. Not that Derek is paying any attention anyway.

"No, last year I was having occasional heavy make-outs at parties and desperately trying to get someone to go out with me more than once while being too embarrassed to bring anyone back to my room."

"Maybe if you'd stop comparing every single person you date to Lydia Martin you'd have better luck going out with them more than once," Scott says, and Derek snorts.

"Whatever," Stiles says, and Derek isn't at all amused by his tone. Because he's not really listening. "The point is, now I have a place to bring people to, and now there is casual sex. With the people that I bring here."

"So you're not going out with her again? I thought you liked her? Didn't you want like, a real relationship?"

" _Casual sex_ , Scott," Stiles repeats. "It is a _thing_ that I am _having_ now."

"Okay okay," Scott says. "Like, with the same person?"

"I dunno," Stiles says, nonchalantly. Derek doesn't know whether it's fake because he doesn't actually know the kid. He just listens to him have conversations with his best friend about his sex life. Derek really needs a TV. "Maybe if she calls again, I guess. But I'm going to a party this weekend, so I'm keeping my options open."

"Are you sure you want to keep bringing these people home?" Scott says, sounding worried. "I mean, it's New York, Stiles. They could be serial killers."

"Okay, _Dad_ ," Stiles says, amused and huffy at the same time. "It's not like I'm finding people on the streets. The party is gonna be full of students."

"Serial killer students," Scott says, and Stiles laughs. They start playing a video game and Derek eats his dinner and thinks about calling his sister. He wonders how much of the conversation Stiles would be able to hear.

——

When the sound of a door and stumbling and laughing wake Derek up Saturday night, he sighs because he thought Stiles might actually stay out and let him sleep in peace. "Shh, we don't want to wake up my neighbors," Stiles half-whispers, and he sounds like he's been drinking, and Derek furrows his eyebrows and focuses a little more without really meaning to.

"You're the one who tripped into the door," another voice says, and it's a guy, and Derek relaxes a little. Stiles must be helping a friend out by letting him crash for the night.

"Yeah, I was talking to my foot," Stiles says, and then he giggles. Actually giggles. Derek rolls his eyes.

"God, you're cute," the other voice says, and Derek's eyes widen and then the door closes and there's the sounds of kissing.

So not a friend, then.

Just how drunk _is_ Stiles?

"Woah, slow down there," Stiles says, soft, amused. He doesn't sound _that_ drunk, but Derek keeps paying attention anyway. 

"Sorry," the other boy says, sounding a little embarrassed.

"No, it's okay, I just—have you—I mean, is this—"

"I've kissed guys before," the boy says, "but not…"

"Okay," Stiles says, and his voice is gentle but Derek can recognize the nervousness in it. He really probably shouldn't be listening to this, but he still can't tell how sober they are. "So—are you sure…"

"Yes." The other voice is insistent, determined. "Definitely sure."

"Okay," Stiles says again, and Derek can almost picture him nodding except he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like. "I'm not looking for anything serious right now, but—"

"That's fine," the other guy interrupts. "Totally fine, I just—God, you're so fucking cute. Can we just—"

"Yeah," Stiles says, breathless. "Yeah, yes, let's." And then they're kissing, and Derek is once again playing his radio at low volume and wrapping a pillow around his ears in a mostly futile effort to not hear his next-door neighbor trip into bed—seriously, that's what it sounds like—with someone.

If possible, this time is even more awkward than the last.

——

Weirdly (Derek thinks it's weird, anyway; he's not really a good judge, though), it's only after that that Derek hears Stiles masturbating for the first time. When Derek realizes that's what the sounds drifting from next door mean, he wonders, idly, why he hasn't heard it before. Does Stiles just not do it that often? Does he normally do it in the shower, and Derek can't hear it over the water? Or is it usually when Derek isn't home?

He probably shouldn't be wondering these things.

——

"So how's school going?"

Laura sips at her tea and smiles at Derek. She waited longer than he expected to start asking him questions, and he should probably appreciate that, at least.

He shrugs. "It's fine."

"You like any of your classes?"

"They're not bad," Derek says honestly. "I still don't know what I want to major in, though."

"Well, you have time," Laura says. "You're not bored, right?"

"No." Derek shakes his head. "I stay busy. It's not bad, really."

"Good," Laura says, smiling a little bigger. Derek likes making her happy. He's not very good at it, but sometimes he manages. "Met anyone new yet?"

"There are people in my classes," Derek says, which is completely dodging the question.

"Yeah, I didn't think we were paying enough for you to be in a private, one-person college," Laura says, her voice edging into teasing. She thinks she's funny. Sometimes she is. "Have you talked to any of them?"

"We have class discussions." Derek is good at dodging questions.

"And you talk in them?" Laura is good at prying.

Derek shrugs again. "Sometimes." He looks out the window of the cafe they're in. Laura didn't make him come home when she wanted to see him, and he's grateful for that. His aversion to the apartment has only gotten worse since he moved out.

"Well, that's good," Laura says. "Have you been getting hit on a lot, or are all the freshmen afraid of you?"

Derek scoffs, but it sounds more like a laugh, more due to Laura's tone than the question itself. "I guess they're afraid of me." He hasn't exactly tried to be friendly.

"It's only the beginning of the semester," Laura says. "Give it time. You'll be fending off offers left and right by Thanksgiving."

"Great, something to look forward to," Derek says, rolling his eyes.

Laura grins. "So how's the sardine can? I'm sorry, I mean your apartment."

"Hah," Derek says, making a face at her. "I like it, mostly. Having to share a laundry room is weird. My neighbors are all obnoxious kids, but."

"But it's nice having your own space?"

Derek shrugs and doesn't answer.

"It's okay, kid, you're allowed to want your own space," Laura says, in that weird gentle-but-admonishing tone Derek thinks is unique to big sisters. "If I'd known that's what it would take to get you to go to school I'd have suggested it years ago."

That's not true, and Derek knows it. Laura never would have suggested he leave. But her saying that means she's accepting of his decision, so he lets it go.

"Must suck living with all those brats, though," Laura says, musingly. Derek laughs without meaning to. Laura's eyes focus on him intently. "What?"

"Nothing," Derek says, shaking his head. "You're right, it does. Sometimes I think about buying earplugs."

Laura laughs. "You mean you don't like hearing all the intimate details of college kids' lives, Derek?"

Derek just looks at her, and it makes her laugh more.

"You should talk to them," Laura suggests. "Who knows, maybe being a grumpy old man telling the hooligans to turn down their rock music will lead to making friends."

Derek has a sudden image of knocking on Stiles's door and saying 'Just thought you should know I can hear you having sex,' and he has to cover his face with his hand. Luckily Laura just seems to think he's exasperated.

"Kids aren't so bad, Derek," she says. 

"You're biased," he tells her. She spends her days volunteering for programs that help at-risk teenagers. Sometimes he wonders if she's trying to make up for not being able to help him.

"I am," she agrees. "But these aren't even really kids living in your building, they're college students. Like you. And you can buy alcohol, so you'd pretty much be their favorite person ever."

Derek thinks about the kinds of things Stiles does when he's been drinking and doesn't really want to be the person facilitating that. Especially when he has to hear it happening.

"Right, illegally buying alcohol for minors so I can be popular, great idea, Laura," Derek says.

"You could always cook for them," she suggests instead, and Derek thinks about the smells that waft from next door sometimes. Stiles cooks; he doesn't need Derek to do that for him.

"They don't need me to take care of them," Derek says, scowling a little.

Laura rolls her eyes. "I'm not talking about taking care of them, Derek, I'm talking about being _friendly_. Neighborly. Smiling at someone when you pass them in the hall or see them in the laundry room."

"How do you know I don't do that now?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Do you?"

He makes another face and doesn't answer.

"Okay, forget the beer and the food," Laura says. "Just—be open to the possibility of friendship, okay? I worry about you, kid. More now that you're on your own."

She's speaking sincerely, looking at him with a quiet honesty, and it fills Derek with that familiar mix of guilt and warmth. "I'm okay, Laura," he tells her.

"I know," she says, her mouth turning up at one corner. "I'm just hoping one day you'll be better than okay. I think going to school is good for you, and I just want you to enjoy it as much as you can."

Derek blinks at her. "Buy me some earplugs, then," he says, and she breaks into laughter.

——

The third and fourth people Stiles brings home are both girls, everyone's sober, and Derek wonders if Stiles only goes after boys when he's been drinking. He doesn't _care_ , it's just, an idle curiosity. Derek's been propositioned by guys he's pretty sure were only interested because they were drunk. Or only willing to act on it because they were drunk, at least.

Derek doesn't know whether it's annoyance or second-hand embarrassment he feels when he has to listen to the kid. The first two times he was trying to sleep so frustration sort of overrode everything else, but the third time is in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday and he had music playing on speakers and apparently Stiles took that to mean they wouldn't be overheard. If Derek was human, the music would be enough. 

If Derek wasn't waiting for a pot of eggs to boil, he'd just leave.

But Derek doesn't want to waste his eggs and Stiles doesn't think anyone can hear him and so Derek is an unwilling audience to Awkward Sex, Round Three. Every mumbled "oops" and "sorry" and breathless, embarrassed laugh makes Derek want to groan and wipe a hand over his face. The kid sounds like it's his first time _every time_ , how is that even possible? How has he not learned where his limbs go? How has he not learned smoother ways of asking for permission and feedback than "is it—can I—do you want—" and "is that—do you like—how was—"?

To his credit, no one's left in the middle of anything yet. But there's been no return visitors, either.

That's not fair, Derek realizes as he times his eggs. For all he knows, Stiles is hooking up with the same people somewhere else. He doubts it, though.

The fourth time Derek wasn't home when it started; he's walking down the hall towards his apartment and he can hear Stiles once he's a few doors past the staircase. At first he thinks Stiles is alone, but when he gets a little closer he can hear another unfamiliar female voice. He thinks about just turning around and leaving again, but from the sounds of things they're just about done, anyway.

"Is your neighbor home?" the girl whispers after Derek closes his door.

"Yeah, don't worry though, he can't hear us," Stiles says, and Derek almost throws something at the wall.

——

Derek's just turning off the water to the shower when he hears a knock at his door. He starts to ignore it, but then there's another knock, so Derek rolls his eyes, pats himself dry quickly and tugs on some sweatpants as he goes to answer the door. He listens, sniffs; there's no signs of a threat so he opens it without bothering to look through the peephole first.

There's a kid on the other side of the door. Tall, lanky; short, dark hair, brown eyes that are widening now that Derek's answered. "Hey," the kid says, voice a little unsure, his mouth sort of hanging open, and for just an instant Derek thinks about closing the door in his face.

The kid is Stiles.

"Um, so," he says, half-smiling, half still sort of gaping, when Derek hasn't said anything (was Derek supposed to say something?). Stiles gestures towards his own door. "We're neighbors? My name is Stiles." He holds a hand out, and when Derek slowly reaches up to take it Stiles seems to relax. His handshake is a lot more certain than his voice was.

"Stiles…Stilinski?" Stiles says, after Derek has dropped his hand and still hasn't spoken.

 _Oh_ , Derek thinks. "Derek," he says, and he sounds _awkward_. Why does he sound awkward?

Stiles grins. "Derek, cool," he says, nodding. "Okay, so, I know it's like a month into the semester and so it's probably a little weird to be doing this now, but I'm having a room-party, get-together sort of thing? For the whole floor, you know, so we can all know who we're living next to. Fun will be had by all. On Friday? So, if you're not busy, you can stop by, if you want. And, y'know…get to know your neighbors."

Derek's first thought is _why hasn't Stiles talked to Scott about this?_ and then he realizes he probably doesn't hear _every_ conversation they have. His second thought is he really shouldn't hear any of them.

"Will you have beer?" Derek asks, and there's that _idle curiosity_ again. He needs to do something about that. 

"Ah, no," Stiles says, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm kind of…not legal yet? And haven't found a place to get a decent fake ID. Not that I would—but you can bring your own, if you want, because you're…obviously old enough to buy it," he says, gesturing at Derek with his other hand.

Derek's beginning to think the awkward thing is just Stiles. He also really doesn't think he wants to be at a party where Stiles is drinking.

Not that Derek wants to be at a party, period.

"I'll think about it," he says, but that's mostly Laura talking.

Stiles kind of lights up, though. "Awesome! Really? Awesome. You're like, the first person I've asked, so. Yeah. I'll have snacks but you can bring whatever, and—seven o'clock, Friday. My room. Which is—yeah, right next door." He points again. "See ya, then."

Derek raises his eyebrows and nods slightly, backing away and closing the door as Stiles turns to invite the next unsuspecting neighbor.

Derek goes to find a shirt, and wonders if anyone will show up to the party.

——

Later that day Derek is studying for a quiz when Stiles gets home and turns on some music. Derek wasn't playing any; he prefers to study without it but he's been making exceptions having Stiles as a neighbor. Stiles's taste in music isn't terrible, though it's probably nothing Derek would choose to listen to himself. Still, it doesn't bother him enough to get his headphones.

"Scott," Stiles says a minute later, and he sounds excited. Derek can't hear the response very well, so Stiles must be on the phone instead of his computer. "I'm good," Stiles goes on. "I managed to tell almost everyone about the party, so that was awesome."

See, Stiles had told Scott about it already. Derek should stop assuming.

"Yeah, no, it's gonna be great," Stiles says. "I need to work on the menu, but—yes, Scott, I'm planning the menu, this is how you _have_ a room party for adults with their own apartments, this isn't a dorm thing where you just open up some bags of Doritos and everyone's happy—well, no, I probably will have Doritos too, but it's more _involved_ than that. Oh, but hey, guess what?"

There is a pause, wherein Scott presumably asks 'what.'

"You know the next-door neighbor I've never actually seen?" A pause. Derek should stop listening. "No, he's not a _serial killer_ , Scott, God, have you been talking to my dad again? He's just a guy. Like…a really, ridiculously attractive guy, who answered the door without a shirt on and I think he just got out of the shower because his hair was wet and I think I might have made a complete fool of myself in front of him."

Derek should _really_ stop listening. Instead he just listens harder. Scott is laughing.

"Because that's exactly what I needed, my best friend to laugh at my social mishaps," Stiles says, deadpan. "I was not prepared, okay? It wasn't my fault. And he's _older_ , like, he can't be a sophomore. Maybe he's a grad student or something."

 _"Do you think he'll come to the party?"_ Scott says. Derek knows he shouldn't be able to hear that. If he was minding his own business he wouldn't be able to hear it.

"I dunno," Stiles says, and now Derek can picture his shrug. He hasn't seen it, but he's seen enough to put together the visual. "God, I hope so, though. Even if I inadvertently set him up with the hot junior down the hall. Or the other hot junior down the hall. Maybe I should have just invited him and not anyone else."

 _"Yeah, that wouldn't have been at all creepy,"_ Scott says, and laughs. _"Good luck, dude. I wish I could come to the party, things have been boring here."_

"Really?" Stiles asks. "Allison's studying abroad and I'm across the country and all the purpose has gone out of your life, huh?"

Derek stops listening after that. He gathers his things and goes to find a coffee shop, and tells himself he's buying a TV on the way back.

——

On Friday Derek is pissed because he got his quiz back and his grade wasn't as good as it should have been, and he knows it's because he keeps getting distracted listening to his neighbor have a social life. He blew Laura off for lunch and she's been calling and texting him since then, until he finally tells her they'll have brunch on Sunday and she leaves him alone.

He goes for a run in the closest park that afternoon. A long run. When he gets back home he does the rest of his workout: sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups on the bar he installed in the bathroom doorway. He takes a shower and jerks off, which he tends to do mostly when he's pissed.

He's standing in the kitchen, staring blankly in the refrigerator when he catches himself listening for any signs of life next door. 

Derek grabs his wallet and goes to buy a fucking television set.

——

When the elevator opens on his floor, Derek's senses hone in on the kid standing at the end of the hall, in front of Derek's door. Knocking on it.

Stiles turns at the noise of the elevator, and his face does that brightening thing again. "Derek!" he says. "Woah, awesome TV. You need help carrying that thing?"

Derek really didn't need to get a TV this big. He has no fucking clue where he's going to _put_ a TV this big. But the salesperson was nice to him and Derek ended up buying it without meaning to. "I'm fine," he tells Stiles, but he has to set the thing down to get his keys out of his pocket.

"Oh, okay," Stiles says, standing awkwardly off to the side in the hallway.

"Why were you knocking on my door?" Derek asks as he turns the knob. He feels like he should still be pissed, since Stiles is standing here and Derek has been pissed all day because of Stiles. But Derek isn't pissed anymore, not really, not _acutely_. Not like he should be with the cause of his anger standing right here. He's blaming it on the nice salesperson.

"Oh," Stiles says again, and hovers at the doorway as Derek takes the TV inside and sets it—fuck, in the middle of the floor, where else is there? "The party? That I'm having tonight? I'm just reminding people about it."

Derek glances at a clock reflexively. It's ten after seven. "Hasn't it already started?" he asks.

"Well—technically?" Stiles says, then waves at the TV. "Did you get that for the big game?"

Derek looks at the TV, then back at Stiles. "The what?"

Stiles blinks and gapes a little. "The—the game, tonight? The one I totally forgot about when I scheduled this party and no one told me about when I invited them and then all went to watch elsewhere? The reason me, you, and the girl at the other end of the hall are the only ones at home tonight?"

"I don't watch TV," Derek says, and then realizes what he just said. Stiles makes him _awkward_.

The kid blinks some more, and then smiles crookedly. "Well yeah, you didn't have one before."

Derek almost laughs, and that catches him off-guard. "So no one's at your party?" he asks gruffly.

"Not yet," Stiles says, and then he's scratching at his neck. "But uh, I was hoping I could convince you to stop by? Just for, like, a minute, so I don't feel like a complete idiot for having a party when no one could make it. Seriously, dude, you can just walk in, eat some food, then leave, and I will feel about a thousand percent better about myself."

Derek thinks back to what Stiles told Scott the other day. If Derek couldn't tell there really wasn't anyone else on the floor right now, he might think Stiles was lying to spend some time alone with him. As it is, the kid's obviously embarrassed and seems to be telling the truth. 

"Please, man," Stiles tries again when Derek doesn't say anything. "The food is good, okay, and I'm not just saying that. I made sweet potato curly fries, you have to try them, at least." Derek raises an eyebrow at him, but that just seems to encourage him. "No, you can't look all skeptical about it and then not try them. They're _amazing_ , okay, I've been perfecting the recipe since junior year of high school."

Stiles is hanging in the doorway—actually hanging off it, like he has to be touching _something_ —and speaking emphatically, and Derek can hear Laura's voice in his head telling him to be open to possibilities. Or some shit like that, he can't remember exactly. And he already blew off one social event today.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking towards the open door. Stiles seems to stumble in place for a second and then rights himself. "You're coming?"

Derek shrugs, but he keeps walking, and Stiles grins and darts away. When Derek gets out of his apartment, Stiles is already standing in front of his own, door open, waving Derek inside. Derek wonders if it would be weird for him to lock his door when he's just going one room away. He decides to leave it unlocked.

"Glad you could make it," Stiles says as Derek approaches his apartment, and Derek rolls his eyes. As he steps through the doorway, he realizes he's nervous. Derek, not Stiles. Well, no, Stiles is nervous too, but that's not a surprise.

Derek also realizes he was expecting the room to smell like—sex, or something, but it doesn't, it smells like food, and behind that something kind of fresh and fake-spicy, and Derek scans the room to see a few candles burning. He's almost impressed at the display of forethought.

"Come in, come in, make yourself at home," Stiles says, pushing the door to behind them. He doesn't close it all the way; maybe he hopes someone else will come by and join the 'party.' "You can take off your shoes, if you want." Stiles himself is in socks; Derek's just noticing that. Derek doesn't take off his shoes.

The apartment is, obviously, the same size as his own, but it's set up differently. Stiles has his bed on a different wall—right next to their adjoining wall, that figures—and he has a different furniture medley. His room looks much more lived-in than Derek's, even though they've theoretically been living there for about the same amount of time. There's music coming from some speakers on a counter, and Stiles is ushering Derek towards the tiny kitchen area.

"Okay, I bought the hot wings," Stiles says, waving a hand at them, "and the chips, obviously, but I made most of the rest of it myself. So if you don't like it you're basically going to crush my feelings. Just saying."

"I thought I already had points just for showing up," Derek says, and Stiles nods.

"True. You actually get a lot of points for that. But dude, my ego is so far down right now, you have no idea. You have to at least pretend to love my food and have a good time for the ten minutes you're here or I'm going to cry myself to sleep tonight."

 _Please don't, I really don't want to hear that_ , Derek thinks. "Ten minutes, huh?" he says.

"I can set a timer, if you want," Stiles offers. "Then you're free to go set up your giant TV and not watch it."

Stiles is handing him a plate, and Derek takes it. He hasn't eaten tonight, after all. He's filling it with food as Stiles asks him what he wants to drink, and Derek turns to look at him.

"I was supposed to bring something," he says, and he actually feels bad. And embarrassed, which is probably stupid. 

"Oh, no," Stiles says, waving his concern away. "Only if you wanted alcohol. I've got other stuff."

Stiles looks at him expectantly, hovering near a small table filled with two-liter bottles. "Anything's fine," Derek says. He usually just drinks water, but the kid bought all that crap and probably wants someone to drink it. Derek goes back to piling more food on his plate—he's the only one here, might as well eat what he wants—after seeing Stiles smile and grab a cup.

When his plate's full, Derek isn't sure what he's supposed to do, but then Stiles is holding two cups and guiding him towards a small sofa surrounded by a few chairs. "Sit wherever," Stiles says, and sets the cups down on the coffee table before scurrying back towards the kitchen.

"Is this music okay? I can change it," he calls over.

"It's fine," Derek says with a shrug, then puts his plate on the table before sliding his jacket off. He doesn't know what else to do with it, so he drapes it over the back of a chair before sitting down.

"Try the fries," Stiles says, busy fixing his own plate, and Derek rolls his eyes but he grabs one anyway.

Yeah, the fries are actually really good.

"Well?" Stiles asks, and then he's plopping down on the couch and raising an eyebrow at Derek.

"Not bad," Derek says, and eats another one.

Stiles scoffs. "'Not bad,' come on, dude. You can be honest. They're amazing."

"Who makes sweet potato curly fries?" Derek asks instead.

"Burger King," Stiles replies. "Or they used to. But I've been making them since before that. I started off just making regular sweet potato fries, 'cause they're healthier than regular fries and I had to watch what my dad was eating. And the sweet potato fries in restaurants are deep fried and covered in sugar, so unless you make 'em at home there's no point." Stiles pauses to shovel food in his mouth, chew, take a drink from his cup, swallow it all. Derek doesn't know why he's watching. 

"But everyone knows that curly fries are better than regular fries," Stiles continues, wiping his hand on his jeans, and Derek doesn't feel quite so out of place anymore. Stiles is just a kid. Awkward and loud and not any more socially apt than Derek is, just more socially willing. "So I got this spiral potato slicer thing, and started working out the perfect blend of spices, how long to cook them just right, everything. They're basically the best fries in the country. And I've had a lot of fries."

"They're not bad," Derek says again, but he's already eaten all of the fries he had on his plate. Stiles notices, and smirks.

"There's more in the kitchen. I can go get 'em, if you want."

"Maybe later," Derek says, focusing on the rest of his food. There's a smug sort of silence that Derek, surprising himself, ends. "What about the girl at the end of the hall?"

"What?" Stiles asks through a mouthful of food, looking over at Derek. Derek resists the urge to make a face at him.

"You said it was us, and the girl at the end of the hall on the floor tonight. Didn't you remind her about the party?"

"Oh," Stiles says, and swallows. "Yeah, I tried, but she didn't answer her door. I could hear the TV though so I'm pretty sure she was just ignoring me."

Derek snorts in spite of himself, and for some reason that makes Stiles's face go all animated. "My social ineptitude amuses you, huh?" he asks with a grin. "Well, I got you to come over, didn't I?"

"You bribed me with food," Derek says, holding up his plate for emphasis.

"But you've already been here for longer than ten minutes, so, I win," Stiles says before ripping off a piece of chicken with his teeth. Derek should really stop watching.

"You didn't want to see the game?" Derek almost wishes Laura was here because she'd never believe him being this social, but he rethinks it in the same second. He really doesn't need witnesses to this.

"Me? No," Stiles says, shaking his head. "Like, I would have turned it on if people were, you know, _here_ , and wanted to watch it, but. Watching sports on TV is kind of boring? Except with my dad; he makes it pretty entertaining."

Derek nods, but doesn't really know what to say to that.

"So where are you from?" Stiles asks a minute later, after the song has changed tracks. Derek opens his mouth, but then furrows his eyebrows and closes it, because he's really not sure what to say to that. Normally he just tells people 'doesn't matter,' but that doesn't seem right this time. "I'm from California," Stiles offers, and now Derek really doesn't know what to say, because if he tells the truth it's just going to invite questions he doesn't want to answer.

"What part?" he finally says. Getting Stiles to talk more about himself seems far easier than answering his questions.

"Oh, some nowhere town up north," Stiles says, waving his hand. Derek tenses, wants to say _me too_ , but he can't. It makes him feel a weird kinship with Stiles, though; what are the odds his next-door neighbor is from the same general area, all the way on the other side of the country?

 _What if it isn't a coincidence_ , an angry, paranoid, guilt-ridden voice in the back of Derek's head says, but if that—if that were true, Stiles wouldn't admit to it, would he?

"How's the rest of the food?" Stiles asks, and Derek realizes he's lapsed into silence again.

"It's good," he says, and tries to think of something else to ask in the face of Stiles's bright smile. "What's your major?" That's a safe enough question. Something normal students ask each other all the time.

"Oh, psychology," Stiles says, and he sets his plate down and grabs at his long sleeves. "Like, forensic psychology? I think. I haven't really decided for sure yet. But my dad's a cop—a sheriff, technically, and I'm from one of those small towns where that still means something—and—I just developed an interest in it, I guess," Stiles finishes quickly, and Derek's pretty sure he changed tracks somewhere in there. "Crime-solving, and all that. What's yours?"

Derek shrugs. "Undecided."

Stiles blinks, obviously surprised. "Oh—really? But you're…"

"Old?" Derek supplies, smirking before he can stop himself.

"N—no," Stiles says, stretching out the word in embarrassment and shaking his head. "Not old at all, just, you know—you seem so… _mature_ , I thought…"

"I started school late," Derek says, amused but deciding not to make the kid squirm any more. "This is my first year."

"Oh," Stiles says, blinking, "wow, so you're—a freshman? And I'm a sophomore." He laughs, a little breathlessly, and Derek has a really unfortunate flashback to listening through the wall while Stiles has sex. More than once.

It's a good thing he bought a TV today.

"Yeah," Derek says, and he really hopes he's not blushing. Werewolves shouldn't blush. That should definitely be covered under the healing properties.

"Hey, can I say something?" Stiles says, his tone different, and Derek gives him a look, because it's a stupid question. "Right, stupid question, I've been saying something since you got here. But uh, you—you look really familiar to me."

"We go to the same school," Derek points out, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Yeah, no, I know, but I hadn't seen you in the building until I knocked on your door the other day, believe me, I would've remembered," Stiles says, and then _he's_ blushing, and that makes the nerves flare up in Derek again. "I thought maybe I'd seen you just around campus or something but if this is your first year…" He pauses for a second, peering at Derek with a scrutinizing look that makes Derek want to squirm.

"What's your last name?" Stiles asks, finally, and Derek's heart starts pounding in his chest. He isn't sure why. He doesn't hide his name.

"Hale," Derek says, and his voice is rougher than he meant for it to be.

Stiles blinks, and blinks, and then his mouth falls open and he blinks some more. "Derek—Derek _Hale_?" he finally manages.

Derek stands up immediately, self-preservation instincts kicking in without his permission. "No, wait!" Stiles says, half-standing as well and reaching out for Derek without making contact. "Sorry, I didn't—sit back down? Please?"

Derek eyes him warily, but sits down again, on the edge of the chair, and tries not to fidget. This kid is a human. He's a gangly, awkward, uncoordinated human and Derek can get away if he needs to. He'd have time. He doesn't have to be afraid.

He glances at the door anyway. 

"Are you—are you Derek Hale, from Beacon Hills?" Stiles asks, like he doesn't want to but he has to, and Derek wants so badly to jump and run for the door but he has to know how this kid knows him.

"How do you know that?" he says sharply, staring at Stiles, being intimidating without really wanting or trying to.

"Oh, wow," Stiles says, blinking some more and leaning back in his seat, hands running over his thighs. "Wow, that's like—the coincidence, man. If I was a math guy I'd be all over that. We're from the same town, Derek. That nowhere town in northern California? Beacon Hills. My dad is the _sheriff_ in Beacon Hills."

Derek lets out a breath and tries not to collapse against the back of the chair. The name _Stilinski_ hadn't meant anything before but it feels like a distant memory now, and _how in the hell_ did he end up next door to some kid from home? How the fuck does that _happen_?

"This is so weird," Stiles says, and Derek has to get out of there.

"I have to go," Derek says, standing up again.

"Oh—really?" Stiles sounds disappointed, and Derek glances at him to see it's all over his face, too. He wants Derek to stay. But Derek really, really can't.

"Yeah," Derek says, and part of him is actually sad about it (about leaving or about disappointing Stiles, Derek isn't sure), "yeah, sorry, I just—I have to go. Thanks—for the food."

"Anytime," Stiles says, hopping up and rushing to open the door for Derek. Derek slows himself down just enough to let him.

Derek locks the door to his apartment, then turns and heads back to the stairs. He has to get _out_.

——

Derek thinks he's wandering aimlessly until he ends up outside his old apartment building. Laura's apartment, now. He pulls out his phone instead of pressing the buzzer.

"Derek, hey," Laura says when she answers. "I thought we were meeting up Sunday?"

"Are you home?" Derek asks.

"Yeah I—what's wrong?"

"Can you come outside?"

"You're _here_? Just come in, Derek, I'll buzz you up. Don't you have your key?"

"Laura," Derek says, balking at entering the apartment again.

"Derek," she says, but her voice is gentle. There's silence for a moment, and Derek thinks maybe being in the apartment will help him feel more settled. It's worth a shot, at least.

"Yeah, I have my key," he says, finally.

"Okay, I'll see you in a minute, then."

When he lets himself into the apartment Laura yells that she's in the kitchen, though he could have figured that out on his own. He walks in the room and sees her getting mugs out for tea. "Sit down, Derek, I think I have some cookies around here somewhere," she says, and starts going through cabinets.

Derek smiles in spite of himself as he sits down. "I don't need cookies, Laura. I just need to talk to you for a minute."

She looks at him around the edge of a cabinet door. "Okay," she says, almost suspiciously, and closes the cabinet. She leans against the counter. "What's up?"

Derek takes a deep breath and lets it out. He glances at Laura, then looks away. "My next-door neighbor is from Beacon Hills."

Laura's silent for a moment, then: " _What?_ " she says, moving forward quickly. "How did—who—how do you even _know_ that?"

"He told me," Derek says, adjusting in his seat. He feels like he's under interrogation. "He—he recognized me, and asked what my last name was, and said we were from the same town."

"He _knows_ who you _are_?" Laura says, eyes blinking rapidly. "Who is this guy?"

Derek sighs and looks up. "Do you remember the sheriff back home?"

Laura's face scrunches. "The sheriff of Beacon Hills is a student at your school?"

Derek rolls his eyes. " _No_ , Laura, his _son_. Sheriff Stilinski's son is my next-door neighbor."

"Oh," Laura says, blinking again. She relaxes visibly. "Well, that's not a big deal, then."

" _What?_ " Derek says, but then the kettle's whistling and Laura busies herself making the tea.

"It's not a problem, Derek," she says as she carries the mugs back to the table. "The sheriff didn't know anything about us, so there's no reason to think his kid would. Are you picking up anything weird from the guy?"

"No," Derek says, shaking his head once. "But—don't you think the whole thing's weird? For us to end up neighbors? I mean—Beacon Hills isn't a big city. What are the chances?"

"I don't know," Laura says with a shrug, taking a seat. "I'm not a math person."

Derek huffs, and Laura looks at him, amused. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Stiles said almost the same thing."

"Stiles?"

"His name."

"…His name is Stiles Stilinski?"

Derek gives his sister a look. "I assume it's a nickname, Laura."

"Oh," Laura says, sipping at her tea. "Yeah, that makes sense. So you two have been friendly?"

Derek feels his face heat up. _No, I just listen to him be intimate with people sometimes_ , he thinks. "He was having a party for the people on our floor today, and he invited me earlier this week. That was the first time I'd talked to him."

Laura's face lights up, and she leans forward over the table. "So you went to the party?"

Derek shrugs. "He came by again today and practically begged me to go. I felt bad for the kid."

"Aww, Derek, look at you, showing feelings and everything," she coos. Derek dips his fingers in his tea and flicks them at her, and she laughs. "Was it fun? The party? Before you freaked out and ran off, I mean."

"It was—" Derek stops, furrows his eyebrows, leans back in his seat. "It was awkward."

Laura laughs again. "That's just because you're not used to it. It'll get better."

"Maybe," Derek says, offhand. "I did buy a TV today."

"You? _You_ bought a TV? Why?" Laura asks, like the concept is beyond her. "You don't watch TV. Or is this part of your attempts to be more social? If so, I approve."

"It—no," Derek says, but he doesn't know what else to say, really. "I just—felt like it was time to get one." Not even a lie, so Laura won't call him out on it.

"Well, you should invite your new friend Stiles over to watch something. No point in buying a TV and letting it go to waste."

"I—yeah, maybe," Derek says, his voice barely above a mumble. 

"That way you can keep an eye on him," Laura adds. "If you're still worried he has some sinister motive for living next door to you."

Laura meant it to be funny, but it really isn't. Still, she has a point. Derek suddenly has an excuse for listening in on Stiles so much.

That doesn't mean he's going to keep doing it, though.

"Thanks for the tea," Derek says, when he's done. He stands up to leave.

"Anytime, kid," Laura calls after him. "Good luck with Stiles."

——

When Derek gets back home, there's a note taped to his door:

_'I have leftovers for you if you want them_  
_you know you want them_  
_you can't resist the fries, Derek._

_—Stiles'_

He rolls his eyes and pulls the note off, and as he's unlocking his door he hears another open.

"You're back," Stiles says, and when Derek glances over he looks sheepish. "I mean, not that I was—waiting, or—listening, or anything. Did you see your note?"

Derek waves the paper at him. "It's late, Stiles."

"Yeah, sorry. I'll—see you tomorrow? Maybe?"

It takes a moment for Derek to answer. "Yeah, maybe. Curly fries keep overnight, right?"

Stiles grins at him. "Yeah. They're actually awesome with breakfast." His eyes go wide. "I mean—not that, I'm saying you should come over for breakfast, or anything, but—unless you wanted to, but—wow I'm just going to stop talking now."

Derek is not smiling. He isn't. But he wants to, and that's—weird. "Goodnight, Stiles," he says, and steps into his apartment.

"Night, Derek," Stiles calls after him. "Tomorrow!"

Derek goes to bed, but he doesn't sleep until he hears Stiles sleeping next door.

He's setting up that damn TV in the morning.

——

Derek doesn't actually know how to set up TVs. The instructions are _stupid_ and he's _following_ them but it's not _working_. Derek doesn't have problems with his cell phone or his laptop, why is a fucking TV causing him this much trouble?

Stiles had a TV in his room. He must know something.

"Derek!" Stiles says when he answers the door. He's still in his pajamas. It's like 11:00. He should be dressed.

 _College kids_ , Derek snorts mentally, ignoring the fact he's a college kid, too.

"Do you know anything about TVs?" Derek asks, holding up the stupid instructions.

Stiles blinks at him, then grins annoyingly. "I watch them, so I probably know more than you, at least."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Get dressed and get over here. Bring food."

"Aye-aye, cap'n," Stiles says, giving him a mocking salute and a lopsided grin. "Gimme a minute."

He closes the door and Derek walks back to his room, and he's pretty sure he hears the sounds of frantic texting.

——

"Did you specifically ask for the most complicated TV in the entire store?" Stiles asks, frustration evident in his voice and his face.

"The salesperson was nice," Derek says, and yeah, that was dangerously close to _morose_. The whiny kind.

"Yeah, no, they were evil," Stiles says, fighting with the buttons on the remote. "Definitely evil. Never go back there. Tell me who they were so I won't go back there, either."

"You already have a TV," Derek points out.

"And at some point in the near or distant future I may want to purchase another electronic device, yes," Stiles says, shooting him a glare.

Stiles getting annoyed at the stupid TV is probably a little more entertaining than it should be. Even when that annoyance is directed at Derek.

"You want a drink?" Derek asks. Stiles had brought some orange juice with him when he came over, but it's gone now.

"You have any beer?" Stiles mutters, scanning the instruction manual yet again.

"No, and you're underage," Derek says as he walks to the kitchen. "I have water. You want water?"

"Why didn't you just say that to begin with, then? And yes. Please."

"Catch," Derek says, and tosses the bottle at Stiles just as he turns.

"Dude!" Stiles says, indignant, flailing to grab the bottle. It hit him squarely in the chest. Gently. 

"I can see why you're not a sports guy," Derek says, smirking.

"I said I don't like _watching_ sports on TV," Stiles says with another glare. "I'll have you know I played lacrosse in high school."

Derek scrunches his nose at the mention of the sport. "Beacon Hills High?" he asks before he thinks better of it.

"Yeah," Stiles says, then gulps at his water. Derek takes the instructions out of his hand so he has something to do other than watch. "Did you play?"

"No," Derek says, and tries to think of a way to change the subject. "Were you any good at it?" That's sort of the opposite of changing the subject.

Stiles shrugs and grabs at the instructions again, but Derek doesn't let them go. "Depends on your definition of good. I didn't play much. Give that back, I need it."

"You don't even know what you're doing," Derek says, and he gets hold of the remote when Stiles goes slack-jawed in disbelief.

"I set up the rest of it, didn't I!" Stiles flails at him, and at the TV. "I even figured out where you could put it! Just because the instructions are _stupid_ and programming the remote is _impossible_ doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing!"

Derek ignores him and reads the open page.

Programming remotes is stupid. Derek feels like he hasn't been missing anything by not watching TV.

Stiles huffs out an irritated groan, marches back to the kitchen and sets down his water bottle, then marches back. Derek's watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Give it," Stiles says, holding his hand out. "I'm figuring this damn thing out if it kills me."

Derek regards him for a second, then looks back at the manual and remote in his hands, then back at Stiles, before finally handing them over.

"Good boy," Stiles says, and Derek barely resists the urge to smack him upside the head. Lightly. Instead he just sneers and steps back towards the counter.

"You hungry?" Derek asks.

"Am I—what?" Stiles asks, wheeling around. "We just ate? Are _you_ hungry?"

Derek shrugs. "You didn't bring that much over."

"Oh," Stiles says, and his face droops a bit. "I could get more? I have a little more."

"I'm not eating all your food, Stiles. I'm ordering delivery. Do you want anything?"

"Oh. Uh—I could eat, I guess?"

"Okay," Derek says, and starts rifling through his take-out menus. He doesn't eat out that often, but he has a ton of menus for whatever reason.

"Thanks," Stiles says. "What're we getting?"

"What I want," Derek says, glancing up. Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to fiddling with the remote.

——

Derek doesn't like having the TV on, but Stiles is so proud of himself when he finally makes the remote work that Derek just leaves it. Stiles says something about how some movie would look on the screen and Derek finds himself telling Stiles to bring it over, and next thing he knows they're sitting on Derek's bed (he doesn't have a couch, he knows it's weird, but Stiles doesn't say anything), eating take-out and watching some movie Derek has never seen or heard of.

It's not as weird as it should be, really.

It's easy to ignore that Stiles is attracted to him; Derek's used to ignoring that, and Stiles is apparently easily distracted so he's never focused on Derek for too long at a time. There's a spike of it when they're first sitting on the bed together, but Stiles gets absorbed in the movie—and telling Derek about the movie—so it passes, and then sort of comes in waves, after that.

It's much harder to ignore how nervous Derek gets every time he worries if Stiles is going to act on it. Stiles is attractive, objectively, but for Derek, for many years, sex has been about escaping something, and there's nothing Derek wants to get away from, right now.

That makes him even more nervous, though.

——

In the end Stiles has to run off because apparently he has a job (on campus, in one of the libraries), and Derek was worrying for nothing.

In the end, Derek thinks he might have accidentally made a friend.


	2. Stiles Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two conversations Stiles and Scott have when Derek isn't around to eavesdrop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all of the lovely subscribers who held out hope this fic would be updated someday eventually maybe! Thank you for sticking with me :) 
> 
> And thank you so much to everyone who left comments or kudos on this sorely unfinished fic. It's really meant a lot to me. ♥
> 
> Now then. Before anyone gets _too_ excited, this chapter is just a little, in-between thing before the next real chapter.
> 
> But starting with this, regular updates from here on out! Theoretically. Details can be found [here on my tumblr](http://asmalltigercat.tumblr.com/post/121971448285/fic-posting-schedule), but I'm aiming to update every other Monday until this is done.
> 
> So. Bear with me on the short chapter, and expect the next update in two weeks—July 6!
> 
> And thanks again to everyone who read the first lonely chapter. I'm sorry this one took so long. ♥
> 
> (P.S.: I'm changing my username after posting this, but I'll be leaving this one as a pseud for a while to avoid confusion.)

He puts off calling Scott for all of five minutes after Derek runs out on him. Or—okay, it’s probably more like three. Derek is well and gone, at least, already disappeared through the stairway door. Not that Stiles was watching.

The door to the stairway is pretty loud, is all.

His mind is whirling. Which isn’t unusual, exactly, but this—this was some pretty freaking huge news, in the grand scheme of things.

“Hey Stiles, how’s the party going?” Scott says as soon as he answers. 

“Scott,” Stiles says, voice over-loud and excited. “Scott, okay, you will never fucking guess what I just found out.”

“Uh…”

“Remember the hot next-door neighbor?” Stiles continues, before Scott can actually try to guess. Because he would.

“Oh my God, Stiles, is he actually a serial killer? Do I need to call your dad?”

Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether Scott is joking. Stiles is going to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one.

“Dude, he’s _Derek Hale_.”

“Uh. I don’t watch those real crime shows you like, Stiles.”

“ _Oh my God_. No, _Derek. Hale._ From Beacon Hills, Scott. Remember that fire like ten years ago that killed that family? That was the Hales.”

“Oh,” Scott says, but not like he remembers, exactly. “Oh, shit. That—wait, your next-door neighbor is from Beacon Hills?”

“Yes, Scott, yes. How the fuck does that happen, right?”

“Dude.”

“ _Dude_.”

“So, wait, does that mean he came to your party? That’s awesome.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything because yeah, it actually is awesome. “Yeah, apparently he’s not into sports so he was home tonight. I uh, had to remind him about the party, but yeah, he came over.”

“Did he like your curly fries?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Stiles says, smiling. And maybe blushing a little. Whatever.

“Wait, shouldn’t the party still be going on?”

Stiles laughs a little, self-consciously. “Uh, well. So...Derek was the only person who actually showed up? And then he kind of...ran off after I figured out who he was.”

Scott is silent for a moment.

“He’s not a serial killer, Scott,” Stiles says, flatly, a little annoyed now.

“Yeah, if you say so. Why’d he run off?”

“I dunno,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I guess it freaked him out that I knew? Or that we were from the same place? I dunno, man. If my whole family—shit, Scott, I can’t even imagine how I’d react. You know?”

“Yeah,” Scott says.

“I feel like I should—I don’t know, _do_ something? Like, like maybe I should bake him a casserole? But that’s—that’s so stupid.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair.

“Why would you bake him a casserole?” Scott asks, confusion in his voice.

“I don’t know! That’s—that’s just what you _do_ , when people lose someone!”

“Oh. Does that help?”

Stiles deflates. Sighs. “No. Fuck no. But shit, I don’t know, I guess it’s nice not to have to cook for a while? But that doesn’t—it wouldn’t even make any sense ten years after the fact.”

“Maybe you could make him more curly fries,” Scott suggests.

Stiles laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

“Hey,” Scott says, confused again, “did you say Derek was the _only_ one there? Was that, like, on purpose?”

Stiles groans.

——

When Stiles works the front desk at the library, he usually spends most of his shift either doing homework or mindlessly following links on the internet. On this particular Saturday afternoon, he makes a half-assed effort to do some homework and then gives in to learning as much as he can about his new neighbor.

His neighbor, who asked him over that morning. And let Stiles stay for hours. And sit on his bed. And eat food he ordered and paid for. (Okay, Stiles didn’t actually _offer_ to pay. But Derek didn’t ask him what he wanted to order, either, so he figures they’re even.)

Stiles has possibly never met an actual person as intriguing as Derek. There’s the fact that he’s unbelievably attractive, and that would have been enough to spark Stiles’s interest on its own. But then there’s also the gruff demeanor, the dry, vaguely insulting sense of humor, and the subtle awkwardness that Stiles only really noticed in retrospect. 

So there’s all that. Then there’s the huge fucking fact that he’s _Derek Hale_ , native of Stiles’s hometown and his totally coincidental neighbor—most of whose family died under tragic and, apparently, somewhat mysterious circumstances.

Any one of those things on its own is worth devoting attention to. All of them together? Have taken over Stiles’s brain.

“Dude,” Stiles says, when Scott answers the call, “did you know they initially suspected arson in the fire?”

“Stiles,” Scott says, in that certain way he has, “what?”

“The fire, Scott, the one that—happened ten years ago,” he explains. Somehow saying ‘the one that killed Derek’s family’ feels wrong after spending time with the guy. “They thought it was arson. But like, the insurance company ruled it an accident? Isn’t that weird? Don’t fire marshals usually do that kind of thing?”

“How do you even know that?”

“Uh,” Stiles says, balking slightly. “I uh. Started looking some stuff up.”

“About Derek.”

“Yeah.”

“Stiles.” That’s a different tone, but still one he’s familiar with. “Are you _internet-stalking_ your next-door neighbor?”

“How else am I supposed to find out this stuff?” he says in a defensive whisper, because he is in a library.

“Uh, maybe you can talk to him like...not a creepy person.”

“Dude, don’t even,” Stiles says. “You want to talk creepy? You fell in love with your freshman ambassador on sight and kept _making up problems_ for her to help you with just so you could talk to her. Remember that?”

“That wasn’t creepy!”

“It really was!”

“Yeah, well—” Scott stops and makes a sort of frustrated-defeated sound. “That was different, Stiles. I wasn’t, like, prying into her life without her permission. Dude, how would you feel if someone did that to you?”

“I—” Stiles stops, stews quietly for a few seconds, then makes pretty much the same sound. “Whatever, Jiminy Cricket. It’s not like I can go back and erase the last two hours of creepy stalking. You should have anticipated this and kept me from doing it!”

Scott laughs. “You might have to make him more than curly fries, now.”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean, it’s not like he _knows_ I looked any of this shit up. Did you know he was on like three different sports teams? They wrote stuff about him in the school paper almost every issue.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Oh my God, fine, fine, I’ll—figure something out.”

“To apologize?”

“Yeah, whatever. Go back to saving the world, Captain frickin’ America.” The words are said with a fond annoyance.

Scott laughs. “Hey, does that make you his buddy, then?”

“Which one?” Stiles asks, and the conversation continues until someone comes to check out a book and Stiles has to do his actual job.

— —

The thing is, Stiles, as a rule, doesn’t really feel guilty about things. He just does shit and lives with the consequences. If he does something wrong, he pretty much avoids the issue until it blows over. 

But. When Stiles _does_ feel guilty about something, it’s almost always a ‘go big or go home’ sort of situation.

So now that Scott has pointed out the actual wrongness of what he was doing—thanks a lot, Scott—Stiles kind of can’t stop thinking about how absolutely shitty it was to violate Derek’s privacy, and the small amount of trust he seems to have already placed in Stiles, like that.

He can’t stop thinking of how he would feel if it were the other way around. If Derek went snooping in his life with such a disregard for boundaries.

In the end, even though it’s probably a _really stupid idea_ , the only thing he can think to do to feel better about the whole mess is to even the scales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.P.S.: It's been too long since I've seen Season 1 so I might have some things wrong about the fire investigation. We'll just pretend I'm remembering right, though.
> 
> (But, since this fic is taking place in the second half of 2014, at least Stiles is finally right about the fire happening around 10 years ago.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S STILL MONDAY SOMEWHERE
> 
> I edited this at 2 in the morning if there are mistakes I'll fix them tomorrow maybe
> 
> Also absolutely nothing happens in this chapter, I'm sorry

Derek half-expects Stiles to show up again sometime Saturday night, if only to reclaim the PS3 they were watching the movie on and that Stiles left there in his haste to get to work. Derek also thinks about not being at home in case Stiles does decide to stop by. He needs to go to the grocery anyway.

But, for whatever reasons he’s choosing not to examine right now, he doesn’t leave. He does homework instead, and reviews that quiz he got the shitty grade on. He briefly considers actually playing one of the games Stiles apparently brought over with the movie; Derek hasn’t played a video game in...a long time, and never on one of the newer systems, so it might be entertaining. The idea sort of fades away on its own before Derek can act on it.

When he hears Stiles get back, he immediately wishes he had left, because now he doesn’t know what to do. His homework’s done. If he starts dinner and Stiles comes over he’ll probably have to offer him food. If he works out again—he did that earlier too—and Stiles comes over he’ll possibly have to deal with Stiles’s hormones overreacting. He obviously can’t play a video game now, because then Stiles will know.

It’s a no-win situation, really.

Except Stiles doesn’t come over, so once again Derek is left vaguely unsettled over nothing. It actually makes him a little annoyed, and he thinks about marching the PS3 next door and handing it over himself. But that means unhooking the thing, and being the one to initiate contact with Stiles. 

So instead, he grabs a library book—from the public library, and now he’ll have to avoid the campus libraries, isn’t that great—and attempts to read it while not-so-accidentally listening to Stiles doing homework. Or at least, that’s what it sounds like he’s doing. 

Eventually Derek gets hungry enough to make food while resigning himself to sharing if necessary, but Stiles never shows up.

Derek goes to bed feeling oddly disconcerted, and pointedly ignores any sounds from next door as he falls asleep.

—

On Sunday, Derek has cleaned up the apartment a bit, gotten dressed for his brunch with Laura (apparently meeting her on Friday night didn’t mean he still didn’t owe her brunch), and is making his grocery list for after brunch when he hears Stiles’s door open and close. He’s listening, there’s no use even pretending he’s not, and when he hears Stiles walk in the direction of Derek’s door, Derek can feel the beginnings of nerves flaring up.

It’s the stupidest thing, it really is, because it’s not—there’s no _good_ reason to be nervous about Stiles knocking on his door. By all appearances, sounds, smells, and any gut feelings that Derek wouldn’t know whether to trust anyway, Stiles is not in the least bit threatening. The fact that Derek’s next-door neighbor happens to be from the same smallish town on the other side of the country is an almost outrageous coincidence, but sometimes outrageous coincidences just happen. 

Possibly it’s just that Derek’s still worried Stiles is going to hit on him, or ask him out, or something, but it’s not like Derek doesn’t deal with that sort of thing sometimes anyway. It’s not like he didn’t deal with the possibility all Saturday morning, and nothing came of it, so getting all worked up over the slim chance of it happening now is just _stupid_.

But he is nervous. Even if he and Stiles are friends, now, or whatever, or if Stiles at least thinks they are, Derek doesn’t really know what to _do_ with that, and maybe that’s where the nerves are coming from.

Or maybe it’s just that people in general make Derek nervous. The worst of that sort of comes and goes, and it’s been not as bad for a while, so he would really like for it to not get bad again. Especially not now that he’s living on his own.

(Which, come to think of it, he should probably think about scheduling a visit with Dr. Barlowe soon. He hasn’t been to see her since he moved out of Laura’s apartment.)

Stiles knocks on the door. Derek takes a breath, feels ridiculous for it, and tells himself that Stiles is just coming to get his PS3 back as he gets up to answer the door.

As he’s opening the door he can tell that Stiles’s heart is beating a little fast, but all that he knows of Stiles so far points to a fast heartbeat saying almost nothing about Stiles’s state of mind, so he doesn’t let himself worry about the cause.

Once the door is opened Derek is saved from having to decide whether he’s supposed to speak first by Stiles practically shoving a piece of paper in his face. “Here,” Stiles says, and Derek just catches himself before he takes the paper.

“What is this?” he asks instead, suspicion in his tone, though what he’s suspicious of is anyone’s guess.

“Amends,” Stiles says, and waves the paper a little at Derek. “Just—take it.”

Derek crosses his arms, and feels his unfounded suspicion was just vindicated. Those gut feelings get it right sometimes. “Amends for what?”

Stiles sighs, stops shoving the paper at Derek, and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, so. I told you my dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills, right? Well, of Beacon County, since the sheriff position is a county thing, but—anyway, he wasn’t always the sheriff, obviously, but he’s been a deputy since I was born, and. I kind of grew up with an interest in his job that some people might call unhealthy? Which explains the major, right? And also, uh, why I recognized you, I guess.”

Here Stiles makes brief eye contact with Derek, takes a breath, and continues. Somewhere in Derek’s mind he wonders if he was supposed to invite Stiles in for this explanation, or something. Or if maybe he doesn’t want Stiles talking about these things in the hallway. Too late now.

“So, uh, the point is,” Stiles is saying, and now that Derek’s own nerves have given way to suspicion and are poised at the ready for anger, he can recognize that Stiles is nervous, in a different way than he was Friday. This is guilt. “Once I realized who you were, bad habits kind of resurfaced, and I sort of...spent my shift at the library yesterday internet-stalking you.”

His face sort of pinches up at the last part, like he’s not sure whether he should be wincing or trying to smile, and Derek’s still waiting for the part he’s supposed to be mad about. “Internet stalking?” he asks, because Stiles seems like he’s waiting for something, too.

“Yeah, and I’m really sorry,” Stiles says, rubbing the back of his head. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” Derek asks, because to him internet stalking is something you do on Facebook and Derek stays about as far away from Facebook as is humanly possible. Werewolfly possible?

“Oh,” Stiles says, like he either thinks Derek must be technically illiterate—the TV debacle yesterday morning probably isn’t helping there—or that he forgot other people aren’t accomplished Internet-stalkers. “Mostly I found old newspaper articles? And uh, the campus library system’s pretty well-connected, and apparently the Beacon Hills library really likes to digitize stuff, so there’s actually scans from the high school newspaper and even the yearbook.”

Derek shifts his weight, but keeps his arms crossed. “Newspaper articles and yearbook pictures. That’s what you found?” He’s a little relieved, but he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like Stiles is going to find anything that mentions his family was full of werewolves. Or even that the fire was deliberately set.

“Um.” Stiles is looking more nervous now, and Derek narrows his eyes without meaning to. “I might have also accessed the Beacon County records database and found the police and fire department reports.”

Now they’re getting somewhere. Still, the official reports shouldn’t have much more than was reported in the papers. “And how exactly did you do that?”

“Oh,” Stiles says with a slight, breathless chuckle, “I might have created my own log-in back in high school? I mean, when I was there I just used my dad’s log-in, or found the paper records, but I needed a way to get into the system once I was away at school.”

“Did you.”

“Well it’s not like I can just check the files my dad leaves around the house when I’m in New York!” Stiles says, slightly exasperated and defensive, before he seems to remember this is an apology. “But uh, anyway. I’m sorry for invading your privacy like that. I started feeling really shitty about it yesterday, but it’s not like I could take it back, so I thought—maybe I could just level the playing field? So, to save you the time and trouble, here’s basically everything you could find if you cyber-stalked Stiles Stilinski. Maybe some things you couldn’t find online.”

Stiles holds out the paper again, and this time Derek takes it, slowly. “You’re giving me a fact sheet.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I mean, there’s some embarrassing stuff on there, if that counts for anything. If it doesn’t, then...I dunno, tell me what else I can do to apologize.”

Derek rolls his eyes a little, out of habit more than anything, before he looks down at the sheet. Then he narrows his eyes at the first, incomprehensible line. “Is that—“

“My actual first name, yeah, don’t—don’t try to say it, please, for both of our sakes.” 

Derek huffs, involuntarily, as he stares at the mess of letters before glancing down at the rest of the page. It seems fairly detailed, and frankly he feels awkward reading it while Stiles is standing right there, watching him. He’ll probably feel awkward reading it, period.

So instead he lifts his head and looks back at Stiles, who is fidgeting, a little, looking between the paper and Derek and back again. Derek vaguely wonders how long Stiles would just stand there if Derek didn’t say anything, but he does have a brunch to get to, so. “I’m supposed to keep this.”

“Uh, I mean, yeah, that was the plan,” Stiles says, shrugging again, his shoulders nearly to his ears, making a face Derek couldn’t begin to put an emotion to. “Don’t, I mean—“ He stops, sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’d prefer if you didn’t, like, make copies and distribute them,” he says, waving an arm down the hall, “but you don’t have to read them all off while I stand here feeling stupid, if that’s what you mean. I just—I’m gonna go, and I’ll see you later, I guess. Or not.”

He’s still making a face, not looking Derek in the eye, and it occurs to Derek that possibly that’s because he still doesn’t know whether his peace offering has been actually accepted or Derek is still pissed about the internet stalking.

The internet stalking that Derek was never actually pissed about in the first place, but acknowledging Stiles’s ridiculous attempt to make amends is probably easier than explaining that.

“So I shouldn’t take it to brunch with my sister, then?” Derek says, raising his eyebrows in what he hopes is a mildly joking manner. “Would give us something more interesting to talk about than how my classes are going.”

Stiles’s face breaks in a grin, his whole posture relaxing in an instant. “Well, I did actually tell my buddy Scott some of the stuff I found, so...feel free to share your favorite parts. Fair’s fair.”

Derek shakes his head, trying to hide the smile he can feel wanting to form—even though now he has _more_ reason to be angry. “I’ll see you later, Stiles,” he says instead. 

“Awesome,” Stiles says, still smiling, and doing a sort of sideways-shuffle back to his own door. “That’s—yeah, that’s awesome. See you. Tell your sister I said hi!” And then he’s in his own apartment and closing the door.

Derek glances at the paper briefly before setting it face-down on his desk. He’ll...decide whether to actually read it later.

—

Laura has asked Derek to meet her for brunch at a new-ish place she’s been wanting to try. New-to-Derek places are hit or miss, but it does at least mean that Laura will be partially distracted through the meal taking notes for her anonymous restaurant review blog. 

It also means the conversation comes in waves, the first one not even starting until their orders have been taken. It is, predictably, about school:

“Classes still good?”

“Yeah, they’re all fine.”

“Thinking about a major yet?”

Derek shrugs. “Not really.”

“Still participating in those discussions?”

“Yes, Laura,” Derek says, rolling his eyes in a manner his sister would likely call fond. He does speak up in class, it just doesn’t happen often. Everything he’s taking is Gen Ed right now, and the only classes that are really conducive to discussions are Intro to Philosophy and Intro to European Literature. 

“Well, that’s good. Making any friends? Well, besides your neighbor.”

One friend is overwhelming enough, Derek thinks. But hey, he can divert the conversation from himself now. “Stiles said to tell you hi.”

Laura blinks. “Did he? Hey, that means you’ve seen him since Friday. And didn’t maul him or anything, that’s great.” She’s grinning, but whether it’s because of Derek’s continuing social contact or because of her own joke Derek doesn’t know.

“He stopped by this morning to apologize for internet-stalking me,” Derek explains. He’s mildly interested to see how Laura reacts; at least part of that is so he’ll know whether his own lack of reaction was actually appropriate.

“Internet-stalking you?” Laura asks, one eyebrow raised. “But you’re not even on Facebook.”

Derek laughs. “Apparently his version of internet-stalking is a little more involved than just Facebook.”

“Is it now,” Laura says, her expression turning considering. “So what’d he find?”

“Nothing that wasn’t public record or in official reports,” Derek says, shrugging. “I didn’t think it was a big deal but he apparently felt guilty enough about it to give me a fact sheet on himself to...level the playing field, or something.”

Laura lets out a short, surprised chuckle. “That’s...different.”

“Yeah, well,” Derek says, but stops there, not adding on the ‘that’s Stiles’ that wanted to follow after. He doesn’t actually _know_ Stiles. 

“‘Yeah, well,’” Laura says, mocking lightly. “He sounds interesting. And not to be the cheesy big sister or anything, but I’m glad you’re making a friend. Oh, food’s coming.”

And that’s the end of phase one of brunch conversation. Phase two doesn’t start until they’re well over halfway through their meals, and it consists of Laura talking about the food and then talking about what’s going on in her life. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Laura asks as they leave the restaurant. “Homework, or something fun?”

“Grocery shopping. I finished my homework yesterday.”

“Got a lot of stuff to get at the grocery?”

“A bit, I guess.”

“Well, I’ll go with you, then,” Laura offers. “Help you carry it so no one looks at you weird as you lumber down the sidewalk with ten loaded grocery bags.”

“That was _one time_ , Laura,” Derek says, only a little defensively.

“Yeah, one time that I _saw_ ,” she shoots back, teasing.

It doesn’t occur to Derek until they’re picking up the bags of groceries that this means Laura will be in his apartment. She helped him move in, but she hasn’t stepped food in the building since. He doesn’t know how he feels about it, but...too late now.

It doesn’t occur to him until about 10 seconds before there’s a knock on his still-open apartment door that Stiles has already shown a tendency for more than _internet_ -stalking.

“Hey, Derek,”—there’s the knock—“you’re back, awesome, I totally forgot I left my PS3 here and I’m having serious withdrawals—oh, hi,” Stiles says, finally noticing Laura in the room. “Sorry, I just—came to get my video games. I’m Stiles, I live next door.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Laura says, which is an innocuous-enough statement that still makes Derek’s face hot with embarrassment. “I’m Laura, Derek’s sister.”

“Hey, that also makes sense,” Stiles says, smiling easily. He’s still standing in the doorway, apparently having decided just walking into the apartment was too forward, or rude, or whatever. “Did Derek tell you I said hi?”

“He did,” Laura says, as Derek resumes putting his stuff away and tries not to be nervous about this interaction. He wasn’t prepared for it. He should have been. “He also said you gave him some sort of information sheet to apologize for looking into us.”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles says, and Derek doesn’t have to see him to know his eyes have gone wide. “That’s, I—”

“You can come in, Stiles,” Derek says.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Stiles says, and Derek glances over to see him stepping in and closing the door. “But right, Laura, I am so sorry about all of that, it was super-inappropriate of me.”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Laura says, lightly enough that Derek can’t actually tell if she means it. “No harm done, and there’s nothing wrong with simple curiosity. I mean,” and now her tone has changed to indicate a joke setup, and Derek can already feel the groan forming, “I know they say curiosity killed the cat and all, but you strike me as more of a dog person.”

‘ _Oh my God_ ,’ Derek mouths to himself, his face heating up again in embarrassed disbelief. He can’t take his sister _anywhere_ , fuck.

“I’ve actually never had a dog or a cat,” Stiles is saying conversationally, like he hasn’t picked up on the fact that Laura just told a massive inside joke (thank _God_ ). “I had a fish when I was a kid and after that I was deemed not responsible enough for anything with legs. Which is on the info sheet, actually. So yeah, I wouldn’t know, but I don’t like to think it’s an either-or thing, right? I mean, can’t you be a cat person _and_ a dog person? They’re both fluffy and cute and expensive. The pets, you know, not the people.”

Laura laughs, either from Stiles being a generally ridiculous person or because she’s still thinking in werewolf terms or both. Derek is still putting groceries away—as slowly as possible—and refuses to look at either of them.

“Well, I don’t wanna bother you guys,” Stiles says, “so I’m just gonna grab my PS3 and get outta here—”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I’m leaving anyway,” Laura says, hurriedly. “I’ve got some errands to run, I was just helping Derek bring his groceries home. It was nice meeting you, Stiles.”

“Oh, well—yeah, nice meeting you too, Laura.”

A second later and Derek is being dragged by his sister to the apartment entrance. “You didn’t tell me he was _cute_ ,” she says on the way, loudly enough for Stiles to have definitely heard, and Derek wants to crawl into a hole.

“You also didn’t tell me he’d been in your apartment,” she adds, much more quietly, once they’re outside the door and she’s hugging him goodbye. “His smell’s all over the place, and his PS3 is still here? When did all this happen?”

“We hung out for a while yesterday,” Derek says, quietly. He hadn’t planned on mentioning that because he knew—

“Oh, Derek,” Laura says, sounding the kind of happy that’s almost on the verge of tears. 

—Because he knew _that_ would happen. 

“This is—I’ve been so worried about you, and—” She stops, takes a breath, and smiles at him. “He seems like a good guy. I don’t know how you two ended up next door to each other, but...he seems like a good guy. So I’m happy it happened.”

“I’ll see you later, Laura,” Derek mumbles, trying to end the concerned-sister talk.

“Right, see you, kid. Bye, Stiles!” She says the last part loudly, and there’s an echoing “Bye!” from inside the apartment, where Stiles is probably standing around awkwardly right about now.

He is, in fact, standing around awkwardly when Derek pushes open the door and steps back into the apartment, but with the definite air of someone who was trying to look nonchalant because they’d just stopped doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. Stiles is standing next to Derek’s desk, so he was probably being nosy. Again.

Weirdly, that thought is reassuring more than worrying. At least Stiles is consistent.

“Your sister seems nice,” Stiles says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sorry for interrupting you guys.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, clearing the grocery bags from the counter. 

Stiles hovers for another moment, like he’s not sure what to do now. Derek takes his time finding a place for the bags (Laura made him get the reusable kind), and eventually Stiles seems to come to some sort of decision.

“So,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the TV, “wanna play a video game?” 

—

It keeps happening, after that.

After the way Stiles nearly drools over playing games on Derek’s stupid TV—and the discovery that, despite the changes since the last time he played one, video games _are_ still more fun than they should be—Derek somehow agrees to let Stiles just leave the PS3 in his apartment instead of taking it back home.

He’s not sure who suggested that, or if neither of them actually said anything and it just _happened_.

Either way, the end result is that Stiles just starts showing up sometimes. Derek still hears him over in his own apartment doing homework, talking to Scott and his dad, making food, whatever—but in between those things, Stiles is now knocking on Derek’s door and making himself at home in Derek’s apartment.

Just like when Stiles came over to watch the movie before, it’s not as weird as it should be.

It doesn’t happen _that_ often, because Stiles is busy with classes and work, and Derek has his own classes, obviously, so their schedules don’t always line up. But it does happen, a few times that first week; Stiles comes over and they play a game and they talk, or they don’t. Mostly Stiles talks, about the game they’re playing or about his classes or about how campus food is super-unhealthy but cooking just for himself seems like too much work to be worth the trouble.

When he comes over Stiles sits wherever, on the floor or in Derek’s desk chair or on Derek’s bed, there doesn’t seem to be a pattern to it, and when Derek goes to sleep at night his bed smells like Stiles, his whole apartment does, really, and—

It’s not as weird as it should be.

—

Derek puts off actually reading the paper Stiles gave him for days.

He doesn’t know why, just—actually flipping that paper over and reading it makes him unreasonably nervous. He already knows more about Stiles than he should, more than Stiles could possibly guess he knows, and even though Stiles gave him the paper with the express purpose of Derek learning things about him, it still feels like an invasion of privacy. 

Or maybe it’s just Stiles’s willingness to share that’s throwing Derek off. He’s used to knowing more about people than they realize, it’s just a matter of course when your senses are so far above what humans are used to—but he’s never had personal information offered up on a silver platter like this. It feels like a shortcut to friendship, or something. Maybe Derek wants to find things out about Stiles gradually. Like people are supposed to do.

Maybe just the fact that he wants to know at all scares him too much to do anything about it.

—

Stiles finds out he hasn’t read it, though, over a week after he handed the paper to Derek. He knocks on the apartment door, waking Derek up from a nap.

“Derek, are you hooooome,” Stiles is saying by the time Derek gets to the door. He opens it, still groggy, wiping a hand over his face. “Oh, sorry, man,” Stiles says immediately, his tone apologetic. “Did I wake you up? I’ll leave you alone—”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, walking away from the door, yawning. He heads to the bathroom, and when he comes back Stiles is switching out games on the PS3. Derek grabs some water and heads back to his bed, still sleepy.

“You sure you don’t want me to go? Naps are sacred, dude,” Stiles says, but he’s already settling on the floor, his back against Derek’s bed, controller in hand. He offers the second controller to Derek, but Derek waves it off.

“I said it’s fine, Stiles.” He yawns again and thinks about lying back down, not awake enough yet to even question his comfort level at sleeping with Stiles in the room. 

“Rough day?” Stiles asks as he navigates the menus on the screen. “Or did you stay up all night writing that paper?”

“Little of both,” Derek says, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes again. Stiles turned the TV down pretty low, probably trying to be considerate. Derek can still hear it plainly, of course, but it’s nice that it’s not too loud.

“I hear that,” Stiles says with a slight chuckle. “Hey, you should text me so I’ll have your number. Then I can text instead of just showing up randomly while you’re napping.”

Derek furrows his eyebrows, cracking his eyes open slightly. “I don’t have your number, either.”

“Uh, yeah, you do,” Stiles says, pausing the game and looking over his shoulder up at Derek. “It’s on the paper I gave you, remember?”

“Oh,” Derek says, eyes going wide before he can stop them.

Stiles just looks at him a second, then he scoffs in disbelief. “You still haven’t actually read it, have you? I put a lot of work into that, Derek!”

Derek rolls his eyes, refusing to be embarrassed about this. “Right, sorry I haven’t had the time to read about the fish you had as a kid.”

“There’s more on there than just that,” Stiles says, and while he’s obviously faking the level of offense in his voice, there’s something else there, too. Something just a little bit serious, just a little bit hurt.

It makes Derek feel bad, and makes him say something stupid.

“Maybe I’d rather learn about you from actually talking to you than from reading it off of something.”

He didn’t mean to say it, and he _definitely_ didn’t mean for the tone to come out more accusing than sincere. What the hell.

“...Right,” Stiles says, and that tiny bit of hurt has turned into a tiny bit of anger, but he doesn’t say anything else, just focuses back on the screen and starts jabbing buttons more forcefully than necessary.

Derek feels like it’s building up to something, and he panics, just a little. He stands up and walks to his desk, takes a breath, and flips the paper over. It only takes a second to find what he’s looking for, and once he’s put the number in his phone he walks back to the bed.

He feels completely ridiculous the entire time he’s typing out the text, but he does it anyway.

 _‘I was never mad about the internet stalking’_ , he types, and hits Send before he can second-guess himself. He’s already writing out the next text by the time Stiles’s phone beeps.

_‘I just feel stupid reading from a list of facts. Do you even want me to know all that shit about you?’_

Derek sends it and moodily drinks his water, actively trying to stay grumpy instead of letting himself be embarrassed.

Stiles waits a good five minutes before checking his phone, but his heart’s been going in overdrive since the first message alert, so Derek has to give him props on his perseverance if nothing else. 

Well. His _stubbornness_ , really.

Stiles laughs a moment after he finally picks up his phone, and Derek feels himself relax involuntarily. A few seconds later, Derek’s phone beeps.

 _‘Yes and no’_ , the text says.

Derek’s thumb hovers over the keyboard, but then he sighs. “I’ll read it,” he mumbles, and Stiles is just far enough away that Derek can see the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile.

Derek puts his phone down and picks up the second controller. “Now restart the game, I’m playing.”

—

He reads the list that night.

He feels awkward and embarrassed the whole time, but he knows that for whatever reason this is important to Stiles, so he does it. There’s a lot of information on the paper, basic things like height and weight, his phone number and his birthday (which is coming up soon, actually), silly things like Stiles’s favorite color and favorite animal, and more serious things, like Stiles’s sexuality (so he is apparently open about that) and the fact that his mom died when he was young.

It really _is_ a shortcut to friendship, but it’s a shortcut Stiles gave willingly, one that he wanted Derek to take. And with as shit as Derek is at conversations, who knows how long it would have taken for him to learn this much about Stiles.

It’s cheating, but. So is being a werewolf, really.

Along with the fish story, there are other anecdotes written on the page, like the one under the listing for ‘First Word,’ about how Stiles’s mom was a reporter for the local newspaper (he comes by the nosiness naturally on both sides, it seems) and always insisted that her son’s first word was ‘deadline.’

Derek smiles as he reads it but his throat closes up a little, too. It feels like a big thing to share, and he can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever be able to reciprocate with things about his own family, his own childhood.

It doesn’t seem fair. To Stiles. 

—

The texting becomes a thing, after that. Not a big thing, or a constant thing, thank God, but a thing. 

Mostly Stiles just texts to see if he can come over (and sometimes he asks when Derek isn’t home, which makes him wonder how many times Stiles knocked when he wasn’t around that first week), but sometimes he texts when he’s bored at work or just feels like texting, it seems. Derek doesn’t get it, exactly; he could text Scott just as easily. It sort of amazes him, though, that someone could have so many things to _say_. Derek doesn’t have that much to say. He never knows how to respond to the texts, unless they’re direct questions. Usually he says something back that’s probably rude on some level but then Stiles responds with emoticons that, when Derek can even decipher them at all, seem to point to amusement. And Stiles keeps texting, so. Derek must be doing something right.

Not that, he, actually, you know. _Likes_ Stiles texting him. Or anything.

On Friday the week after the texting starts, Stiles sends Derek a message in the middle of the day, when he’s heading to his last class of the week.

_‘Got invited to a party tonight, wanna go?’_

Derek stops on the sidewalk, staring at the text. He doesn’t—parties are not Derek’s thing. People are not Derek’s thing. Loud music, drunk idiots...no. He doesn’t have to deal with that shit anymore, doesn’t have to subject himself to bars and clubs and lowered inhibitions. 

_‘Not really’_ , he sends back, almost on reflex, before thinking:

If he doesn’t go, will Stiles bring someone back home with him?

If he did go, would that. Actually prevent it?

Stiles responds before Derek can dwell too much on it. ‘ _Hah ok. C u tmrw?’_

 _‘Yeah’_ , Derek replies, huffing slightly in spite of himself. Stiles’s texting mannerisms vary wildly from perfect sentences to near-gibberish. Derek doesn’t know if the differences mean anything.

 _‘Have fun’_ , he adds belatedly, when it occurs to him he probably should have thanked Stiles for inviting him, or something.

He takes one step, two, then he’s typing again:

_‘Don’t be stupid.’_

He sends it with a scowl on his face, directed entirely at himself. He doesn’t—he’s not Stiles’s _guardian_. He doesn’t get to say things like that to him. Stiles is probably going to bristle at it, might not even want to see him tomorrow, now.

Derek is walking into the building for his last class when he gets the reply. _‘No promises’_ , it says, with a thumbs-up emoticon, and Derek frowns at his phone, because that—is just sending mixed messages.

He doesn’t really hear much of what the professor says during that class.

—

Stiles doesn’t bring anyone home.

—

(Derek only knows that because Stiles was drunk and stumbling when he got in, and knocked something over and swore loudly enough to wake Derek up.)

—

Stiles is still asleep when Derek heads out for a run the next morning, then stops and has tea with Laura. She’s been busy all week, and is busy that day, too, so it’s just a short check-in. Derek knows that she’s worried about him living on his own, she’s told him as much, but she looks so happy to see him for those 20 minutes that he can’t help but wonder how it’s affecting her, living alone.

The fact that he hasn’t thought much about it before this makes him feel like shit.

She has to take off before he can work up the nerve to ask her about it, though, and then he takes a lot longer than necessary getting back to his apartment, because, well, he’s moping. But then he gets hungry, so, he follows his nose, more or less, to a pizza parlor, and he’s just planning on getting a couple of slices but then he thinks about Stiles.

 _‘You hungry?’_ he texts him, then wonders if Stiles is even awake yet. He apparently is, because within about a minute Derek gets the first of a series of texts:

_‘Yes dude i am starving are u psychic’_

_‘I literally just got done staring in my fridge for 10 minutes trying to will food into existence’_

_‘It didn’t work’_

_‘Was gonna order pizza or something’_

Derek snorts a laugh, and he can feel the smile. It’s there, but he’s choosing to ignore it.

 _‘What toppings?’_ he sends back.

_‘Uh dunno yet, you have a preference?’_

Derek shakes his head, the smile getting a little wider. He’s still ignoring it.

_‘I’m at a pizza place right now. What do you want?’_

After that is a series of nonsensical emoticons, followed by:

_‘Oh my goooooooooooood you are amazing’_

_‘I am hungover and you are bringing me pizza’_

_‘You are officially my favorite’_

_‘Oh and i’ll eat anything if it’s on a pizza so get whatever you want’_

_‘YOU’RE AMAZING DEREK’_

Then he sends a string of hearts and pizza emoticons, and Derek is blushing horribly by the time he puts his phone away and starts trying to decide on toppings.

He’s ignoring that, too.

—

Derek is stepping onto their floor from the stairwell as Stiles is coming out of the elevator, carrying laundry detergent.

“Dude!” Stiles says, excitedly, more at the pizza than at Derek, and looking—way more alert than someone with a hangover should look, probably. “Did I mention you’re my favorite?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, as Stiles steps ahead of him down the hall. “Favorite what, though, you didn’t say.”

Stiles laughs, then groans a bit and touches his head. “Okay, still too soon for that,” he says, and opens his door. He leaves the door open, and Derek had been planning on taking a shower before inviting Stiles over, but too late now, he supposes. He follows Stiles into his apartment.

“Pizzaaaaa,” Stiles says, after dropping the detergent and turning back to Derek. He takes the box out of Derek’s hands and sets it on the kitchen counter, then starts pulling out plates and cups.

“I’m having water, dude,” Stiles says, “but you can have whatever, uh, I have—” He opens the fridge and looks in. “I have orange juice, iced tea, and half a two-liter of flat off-brand Coke. Wow.”

“Water’s fine,” Derek says, taking the plates off the top of the pizza box and grabbing a slice before Stiles demolishes the whole thing. He would not put it past him.

“Dude, that’s all you ever drink,” Stiles says, but not meanly. He fills both cups with water and sets them on the counter, then grabs a slice of pizza and tries to, seemingly, shove half of it in his mouth at once. 

“Ow, shit, ow, how is that still so hot?” he says, retracting the slice immediately.

“I walked fast,” Derek says, dryly. 

“Shit,” Stiles says again, then takes a much smaller bite, still saying “ow, ow,” as he chews it.

“Are you sure you’re actually hungover?” Derek asks as Stiles chugs half of his water.

Stiles laughs, then hops up on the counter and blows on his pizza before taking another bite. “Okay, so, if I tell you this it has to stay between us,” he says, gesturing at Derek and back at himself with his pizza. “But I am a total fucking lightweight. Two beers and I’m drunk. Three and I usually start throwing up, learned that one in high school, but kept doing it anyway ‘cause I’m also an idiot. I’m trying to be more responsible now, or something?”

“That wasn’t on the fact sheet,” Derek says, reaching into the box next to Stiles for another piece of pizza.

“I tried to keep it at a page,” Stiles says easily. “But the cool thing about sticking to two beers has been that I wake up feeling like shit, but I drink a fuckton of water and take some Tylenol and in an hour or so I’m like a real person again.” He shrugs, eats his pizza.

They eat in silence for a while, Derek leaning back against the counter on the other side of the pizza box from Stiles. “You working today?” Derek asks, after he’s finished his second slice and Stiles is nearly done with his third.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “In a couple hours, actually. I woke up and realized I have no clean clothes, so I’m doing some emergency laundry now, speaking of—” He pulls out his phone and checks the time. “Okay, I’ve got like ten minutes before I have to go change it over.” 

Stiles puts the phone back in his pocket, then reaches over, pizza crust hanging out of his mouth, to grab at a roll of paper towels. He hands one to Derek and wipes his own hands off before hopping down. “This pizza was awesome, Derek, thanks again, seriously. How much do I owe you?”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, focusing on wiping his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Stiles making a face at him. He knows—he’s heard Stiles talk about it to Scott, to his dad—that Stiles is careful with his spending, and so Derek just...doesn’t let him pay for food they share. Even when Stiles is the one who orders (and Derek has been eating way more takeout since Stiles decided to start hanging out with him), Derek intercepts the delivery person before Stiles can and pays for it all. It’s easy enough to do when Derek hears them coming.

“You know,” Stiles says, taking Derek’s plate and putting it in the sink with his own, “I’m going to just, like, start cooking for you one of these days, and then there won’t be anything you can do about it.” He says it like a threat, but Derek can smell the nerves underneath the words.

“I could buy the groceries,” Derek says, like he’s trying to prove a point, although he’s really not at all sure what that point is.

“Not if you’re not with me when I get them!” Stiles says, flustered but amused, his words full of a challenge.

Derek feels the smile coming and moves to throw the paper towel away to hide it. “I need to do laundry too,” he says, changing the subject in a completely obvious way.

“Smooth,” Stiles mutters with a chuckle. “Here, take your pizza—”

“I don’t—”

“Fucking take the fucking pizza, Derek,” Stiles says, shoving the box against Derek’s stomach, but he’s clearly fighting a smile as he does it. “Or I’m going to follow you next door and shove it in your fridge myself.”

“Shouldn’t you be putting clothes in the dryer right now?”

“Fuuuuuck you,” Stiles says, on a long exhale, but his lips are still twitching up and his heart’s beating quick, like it always does when they argue. If this could be called arguing.

Derek wonders if Stiles’s heart sounds like that when Derek texts vaguely antagonistic things at him, too.

“Now get out of my apartment,” Stiles is saying, and he’s moved around to Derek’s back and is pushing at his shoulders, gently, obviously trying to show that he’s not really mad, and it’s…

It’s something.

(It’s _cute_.)

Derek ends up back in his own apartment feeling somewhat bewildered, but then he hears quarters jingling as Stiles heads out and down the hall and he remembers, right, laundry.

—

He gets to the laundry room as Stiles is putting quarters in a dryer, and feels himself start blushing for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

“Hey again neighbor,” Stiles says as Derek heads to the washers. Derek lifts a hand in a painfully awkward wave, then opens a machine and starts dropping in clothes.

“Hey, so, I remembered a thing I was gonna tell you,” Stiles says, and those nerves are back, the smell at least twice as strong, and Derek glances up, tensing. Stiles isn’t looking at him, and Derek goes back to mechanically putting clothes in the wash. He’s going to have to completely resort these after Stiles leaves.

“Yeah?” Derek says, probably a few seconds later than he should have.

“Me and some friends are going to see a movie tomorrow, you interested in coming with?” The words are said quickly, with a forced nonchalance that puts Derek further on edge.

It’s not like Stiles is asking him on a date, it’s—it’s just a group outing. It’s just Stiles trying to include Derek in things.

It’s nice.

Derek still isn’t going.

“I don’t think so,” Derek says, still staring at his clothes, not wanting to see the disappointment on Stiles’s face. 

“Got it,” Stiles says, and the amusement in his tone seems a little forced, maybe, but he doesn’t sound upset. Derek risks a glance again and sees him edging towards the doorway. He waves a hand at Derek. “You’ve got that whole, y’know, lone wolf thing going on, it’s cool,” he says, and smirks. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” Derek says, and then Stiles is gone, and Derek resists the urge to slam the door of the washing machine closed. “Not by choice,” he says, breathes, into the empty room. 

Wolves aren’t alone by choice.

—

The next few days pass the same way the previous week had, with Stiles in and out of Derek’s life, his space, as their schedules and Stiles’s whims allow.

(It’s always Stiles’s whims; Derek has yet to tell Stiles he can’t come over if Derek is home. If he’s working on homework he tells him, and Stiles just comes over anyway and does his own work. It’s...it’s probably bad, really, how used Derek’s getting to Stiles being around.)

Things change on Wednesday, when Stiles texts at lunchtime to see when Derek’s going to be home that night, and then tells him not to eat dinner. 

It puts Derek on guard immediately. Because he knows—tomorrow is Stiles’s birthday. And he’s been trying not to think of it, honestly, because it just makes him nervous. Is he supposed to get him a present? Are they close enough for that? What the hell would he even get him? A video game is the only thing he’s been able to come up with. And that’s—he wouldn’t even know what game to get, at all. It would probably end up being something dumb and Stiles would just laugh at him.

And now...what, Stiles is making him dinner? On the day before his birthday? Shouldn’t that be the other way around?

 _‘That sounds ominous’_ , Derek sends back, after taking too long. At least stalling isn’t as obvious through text.

 _‘Ominous?! What?? How is making u dinner ominous??’_ is the fairly quick response. It’s not hard to imagine the spluttering that would have accompanied the words in person.

 _‘You didn’t say you were making me dinner’_ , Derek replies. _‘You just told me not to eat.’_

Then, after thinking for a few seconds, he adds: _‘Telling me not to eat a dinner you’re making...pretty much the definition of ominous.’_

He grins, waiting for the response.

...Fuck. He is. He’s actually _grinning_.

The reply, when it comes, is somewhat anticlimactic:

_‘Dude you’ve gotten really fast at texting’_

Then:

_‘Also ur an asshole’_

Okay, that’s more like it.

 _‘I’m not the one making vague dinner threats, Stiles’_ , Derek types. He’s fucking enjoying himself. Damn it.

The responses are quick:

_‘SHUT UP’_

_‘DON’T EAT DINNER ANYWHERE ELSE BECAUSE I’M COOKING FOR YOU YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE’_

_‘AND YOU HAVE TO EAT IT AND YOU HAVE TO BE NICE TO ME BECAUSE TOMORROW’S MY BIRTHDAY’_

_‘JERK’_

Derek—still fucking smiling—sends back: _‘If it’s your birthday shouldn’t I be the one cooking’_ and then sits back in smug anticipation of the reaction he can’t even see.

It takes a few minutes—to the point where Derek really needs to start heading to his next class—before he gets a reply. It’s just one word, though:

_‘NO’_

Derek shakes his head, turns off his phone (because it’s a damn distraction), and tries not to spend the entire class period thinking about Stiles cooking for him.

(It’s not entirely successful.)

—

Derek smells it as soon as he steps on the floor. He can guess where it’s coming from, but it’s confirmed as he follows the smell straight to Stiles’s door. He’s knocking before he’s even made the conscious decision to knock.

“Derek!” Stiles says, surprised and nervous, when he answers the door. “Dude, I’ve been texting you and you haven’t replied for hours, I thought maybe you ran away on me.”

“Turned my phone off,” Derek says, distracted, head turning in the direction of the smell. “Forgot to turn it back on. Did you make chili?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Stiles says, closing the door behind Derek. “I guess you can smell that, huh? I uh, I figured, since it’s gotten colder lately, and—chili freezes really well, so it’s like, I make it once and I’ll have emergency dinners for whenever. You like chili? I guess I should have asked.”

“Yeah, I like it,” Derek says, wandering further into the kitchen area and lifting the lid on the pot. “It smells good.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says, sounding relieved. “I didn’t make it too spicy since I didn’t know if you—”

“You can make it spicy,” Derek interrupts. He puts the lid back on the pot and wonders if he should go drop off his stuff next door. He does have homework, though, so maybe he should just work on it here?

“You sure?” Stiles asks. “I mean I don’t go crazy or anything, but me and my dad like it pretty hot, so…”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, at a loss now as to where he should go. He’s not used to hanging out in Stiles’s apartment. This is only the third time he’s even been in it, and the last time was just while they were eating pizza. “Make it how you normally would.”

“Yeah?” Stiles sounds happy about that, and he practically elbows Derek away from the stove. “Okay then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You almost ready to eat? It was already done, so now I just gotta add the extra heat. Hey, that rhymed,” he adds, grinning.

Derek rolls his eyes and moves to sit at the counter separating the tiny kitchen area from the rest of the apartment in lieu of actually answering.

“Dude you can sit somewhere more comfortable,” Stiles says after glancing over at Derek on his way to the fridge. “I have a couch. I mean, you know that, you’ve been here before.” When he turns back to the stove, Derek is pretty sure he’s blushing.

“I’m fine,” Derek says, watching Stiles add the final ingredients to the pot. It’s probably weird that he’s watching. He keeps doing it anyway.

“I should have had, like, appetizers or something,” Stiles says as he stirs the pot. “That’s what you do when you invite people to dinner, right.”

“I really wouldn’t know,” Derek says, then adds: “My dinner guest has never actually been invited.”

He meant for it to come out teasing, but he can see Stiles tense up at the stove. “Yeah well, I’m making up for that now,” he mutters, and Derek doesn’t know how to fix it, but then—

“Hey!” Stiles says, spinning around, wooden, chili-covered spoon spinning with him. “You totally invited me that first time!” He brandishes the spoon at Derek. “That was all you, buddy.”

“You’re right,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows. “I brought this all on myself.”

Stiles grins, and relief washes through Derek. “As long as we’re in agreement,” Stiles says, and then his eyes go wide. “Oh, shit, do you want something to drink? I am sucking so much today.”

“I can get it,” Derek says, standing back up and coming around the counter again. 

“But you’re supposed to be my guest,” Stiles says, a hint of petulance in his tone.

“I can get myself a glass of water, Stiles,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. Stiles helps himself to Derek’s fridge every time he comes over. He finished the leftover pizza from Saturday within two days. “Do you want something?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’m gonna get a glass of milk in a minute to go with this fucking awesome chili.” He moves as he talks, stepping towards Derek and reaching up to the cabinet next to where the cups are, and then they’re next to each other, arms touching briefly as Stiles gets a couple of bowls down.

It’s...Derek is getting used to Stiles being in his space but they aren’t often _this_ close, and it’s…

Nice.

Should it not be?

Derek has no fucking clue.

He moves to fill his cup with water. “Milk with chili?” he asks, to take his mind off of it, off of the closeness, off of—not hating the closeness. 

“Dude, yes, I always have milk with chili,” Stiles says, ladling chili into one of the bowls. “The milk helps with the spiciness, you know?” He turns and hands the bowl and a spoon to Derek. “Sit.”

Derek shakes his head a little, rolls his eyes a little, but he does as he’s told, retreating back to his seat at the counter. Stiles follows with his own bowl, sets it down, and starts getting things out of the fridge.

“Okay,” he says, “I have cheese and onions and sour cream. No crackers, I don’t know if you’re one of those weirdos who likes to put crackers in chili but you’re out of luck.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, amused despite himself. He watches Stiles pour a cup of milk and walk over to sit on the stool next to him.

“I feel like I should have a kitchen table,” Stiles says, piling cheese on his chili.

“You have…” Derek looks around, knowing he saw a table in here before. “That,” he says, nodding at what looks like a card table, completely covered in books, clothes, and who the hell knows what else.

“Oh,” Stiles says, following Derek’s line of sight. “Huh. I guess I could have cleaned that off.”

Derek snorts, and Stiles’s head whips back around. “Dude,” he says, fucking _warningly_ , “you’re supposed to be nice to me today. Remember?”

“Your birthday’s not till tomorrow,” Derek points out, taking the cheese away from Stiles to use it himself.

“Hey!” Stiles says, indignant.

“You were done with it.”

“Yeah, well.” They finish garnishing their respective bowls, and then Stiles watches Derek shamelessly, presumably waiting for him to take a bite.

Derek rolls his eyes again, but he tastes it anyway. His eyebrows raise, and he can practically feel the smug pride radiating from Stiles. 

Because, well. It’s some really fucking good chili. 

It’s hot, yeah, but that’s not all it is, it—no one makes chili the same. This chili is not much like the kind his mom used to make, or the kind his dad used to make—because they were very different—and it’s not like the attempts Derek and Laura have made to replicate either one of those. It has some of those same flavors, but it isn’t them. It’s its own. Unique. _Stiles’s_.

Did Stiles learn how to make this from _his_ parents? Is it exactly how he learned, or has he changed the recipe, made it truly his own?

“ _Well?_ ” Stiles says, and Derek realizes he’s been staring silently as his bowl.

“It’s good,” he says, embarrassed, then takes another bite so he won’t have to say anything else. 

“ _Yesss_ ,” Stiles says, drawing the word out into a hiss. “My cooking has officially been upgraded from ‘not bad’ to ‘good.’ One day I’ll make something that you say is ‘really good’ and then I’ll pass out from shock.”

Derek can’t actually think of anything to say to that so he just elbows Stiles and continues eating.

“So tomorrow’s my birthday,” Stiles says a while later, when Derek is a little more than halfway through with his bowl and Stiles is almost scraping the bottom of his.

“I know,” Derek says, nodding, trying to will down his nerves; Stiles has been noticeably nervous for the past several minutes.

“Right, I told you earlier,” Stiles says, returning the nod, his focus still on his bowl.

“And it was on your fact sheet,” Derek points out. He feels the need to remind Stiles whenever possible that he actually read the stupid thing.

“Oh, right. Well, okay, so…” He stands up and moves around the counter, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk. “Here’s the thing,” he says, as he pours himself another glass. “Oh, hey, do you want some milk?”

“No,” Derek says, and adds belatedly as Stiles is putting the milk back: “Thank you.” It’s hard to remember to be polite.

“Okay, so, the thing is,” Stiles says again, coming back and putting his hands on the counter across from Derek. “Some friends are taking me out for my birthday, and you’re coming with us.”

Derek feels his chest tighten, but he tries not to show it. He keeps his grip on his spoon, raises an eyebrow at Stiles, who’s looking at him defiantly now. “Am I?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles says, nodding emphatically. “It’s my birthday, and you’re my friend, and you’re coming out with us. You don’t have to drink, okay, I just want you there.”

“You’re _drinking_?” Derek asks. “You’re only turning twenty, Stiles.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says, with feeling, dragging both hands over his face. “I knew giving you that stupid fact sheet would backfire somehow. Yes, _Derek_ , I’m only turning twenty, but I have two whole friends at this school who are _over_ twenty and they want to take me out to get completely trashed on my birthday, and I’m going to let them.”

Derek just stares at him.

“Two friends besides you, I mean,” Stiles adds after a moment of tense silence. “Because obviously you have no intentions of buying me alcohol. But hey, look, if you come along, you can keep me out of trouble?” 

He says it hopefully, but Derek just scowls harder. “You want me to _chaperone_?”

“No!” Stiles says, and flails a little. “No, dude, I just want to hang out with you on my birthday, okay? Seriously. I’d be happy to hang around here and play video games like any other day, but I don’t—look, I don’t have that many friends here in the city, and the ones that I do have said they’re taking me out for my birthday and I’m not going to tell them no. I just told them I was bringing someone else with us. And I mean, you don’t, you don’t have to come, I just...please?”

Derek is still looking at him, and he’s probably looking at him strangely, because—Stiles just lied. When he said he’d be happy doing the same thing they usually do, he _lied_ , and Derek’s never heard him—he’s never heard Stiles lie before. Not a full, blatant lie, like that. 

The rest of it, though, the rest of it wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to be with Derek on his birthday.

Derek is a little amazed that he even knows Stiles well enough to tell the difference. He hadn’t realized he could yet, but maybe...maybe that’s because Stiles has never lied to him before.

It bugs him that Stiles felt the need to lie about this. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do something special for your birthday. That’s _normal_.

“Okay,” Derek hears himself saying.

Stiles’s eyes go wide. “Okay? You—you said okay, right? As in, ‘okay Stiles, I will go with you as you partake in the juvenile tradition of getting stupid-ass-drunk on the anniversary of your birth’?”

“I’m not drinking,” Derek says, unnecessarily. It’s not like it would matter either way. He just doesn’t see the point in wasting the money, and most alcohol tastes like shit anyway.

“Noted,” Stiles says, grinning brightly. “Dude, this is gonna be so awesome.” He holds a fist out over the counter, and Derek looks at it, huffs loudly, and then bumps it with his own, feeling ridiculous.

It makes the skin on his fingers tingle, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I haven't actually seen the show in a _really long time_ and I'm kind of worried my characterization is deteriorating so
> 
> Someone let me know if that's actually happening please
> 
> And next update should be in two weeks! The uh, the 20th. Monday. I'll try to actually post it when it's still Monday in my own time zone next time.
> 
> COME TALK TO ME ON TUMBLR: [asmalltigercat.tumblr.com](http://asmalltigercat.tumblr.com)


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